


Odds and Ends

by Angryangryowl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/pseuds/Angryangryowl
Summary: Tosh is exhausted and working late, Owen makes sure she gets some rest...





	Odds and Ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostOfDorothyStreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Love xx

He loves her fiercely sometimes. When something brings how he feels about her into focus so sharply it burns, like sun through a magnifying glass. 

 

He's not sure she sleeps much, definitely not as much as she should, but she'd wave him off if he ever told her. Tonight, several pages deep in translation, waiting for a program to load, she falls asleep at her workstation. Head lolling on her folded arms, a silky fold of her hair caught between cheek and shoulder, her glasses slipping down her nose.

 

There's no way that can be comfortable. But as he comes around the corner, he just has to stare a minute. Drink it in, seeing her peaceful, the worried lines of her brow and nose relaxed into soft, sleepy lines.

 

He could wake her up, poke her in the back and tell her to go home. But he doesn't think she'd like that. And whilst his usual tack with the girls is to tease and mock and wind them up, like a kid in the playground, he doesn't feel like that either.

 

He gently brushes her hair from her eyes, an arm around her back to make sure she doesn't fall from the narrow chair when he wakes her.

 

She hums sleepily, one eye half open 'Owen?’

 

'Yeah..’ he whispers 'It's late, sweet girl.’ He can hear the rounded, gentle tenderness in his own voice, a bit clunky but somehow heartfelt 'Was wondering if I could carry you through? Get some kip here. Don't think driving's the best idea for you just now..’

 

Her eyelids flicker a second, considering, before she relaxes, realising how tired she is and leaning into the offered warmth of his chest, murmuring gratefully 'Oh, you're a saint…’

 

'Don't normally say that…’ he teases gently as he scoops her into his arms, one arm around her shoulders the other beneath her knees.

 

'Hush…’ she mumbles with very little conviction, her hand loosely fisted in the front of his shirt.

 

'Must be tired if you're letting me carry you..’

 

'Must be..’

 

She'd normally insist on walking. It's not that she doesn't like romance, Owen thinks. It's just that she can't bear anyone questioning how capable she is. On some weird level he understands that.

 

The couch is tucked away against a back wall, away from the assorted leaks, testament to the Hub's constant battle with the bay tide. It's seen things, this couch. Tears, lots of those, lots of laughter, til they're clutching they're ribs then a bit more, drunken antics, heartfelt confessions, kisses, endless exhausted naps when one or sometimes more of them is too tired to go home.

 

He lays her head gently on a pillow, shaking out a soft tartan blanket (a relic of Jack's, he thinks) and tucking it carefully around her shoulders, pressing a whisper of a kiss into her hair.

 

'Stay with me…’ she murmurs, her eyes still closed, the dark circles painfully apparent when he slips her glasses off, folding them neatly on the table by her head.

 

'No room’ he protests weakly, though the sofa is long and wide, and has, at times supported the weight of the five of them as they laugh or bicker or rock-paper-scissors for the last slice of pizza.

 

'Yes there is…’

 

He can't deny her. This clever, sweet, endlessly patient girl deserves the whole world. And whilst he can't give her that, he can stop whatever this, this toxic, twisted thing of pulling her close and then pushing her sharply away, flirting with her for favours and mocking her when she dares show any interest.

 

He kicks off his shoes and slides in next to her, his chest against her back and his arm tentatively around her middle. She's warm, smells sweet and clean, powdery and vaguely of apple shampoo. 

 

She wriggles just enough to settle back against him, already sleepy and pillow warm, and he gathers her a little nearer, his Tosh.

 

They've never slept together, in this or any other sense, just that kiss, his first new year at Torchwood. Both a little drunk, giggling, leaning against the boardwalk railings by the tourist information office. Seeing her smile and laugh like that, he's never felt so entirely smitten with anyone.

 

'Goodnight, Owen..’ she murmurs, already half asleep.

 

'Night Tosh, darlin’...’ He feels himself beginning to drift, the regularly repeating pattern of the equipment lights blurring into one. And before sleep entirely claims them both 'I love you, you know..’ 

 

For a moment he's grateful her breathing is so steady, even and sleepy, she probably can't can't hear him.

 

Her hand finds his on her belly, threading her fingers through his.

 

‘I know. I love you too.’

 


End file.
